Midsummer Nights
by primal scream
Summary: [WIP] An autumn soiree in celebration of tales of old brings four unlikely students together in the most unconventional way.
1. autumn tragedy

**[edit 241003]** The revised chapters of 1, 2 are essentially the same but scenes have been added and fixed so the characters are a bit more in character. Same premise - just a different plotline/outcome. Chapter 3 is a completely **_new_** chapter because the storyline has been edited. Original first three chapters are available in an entry of my fic journal. **[/edit 241003]**  
  
One main storyline, four sub-plots. Slash undertones but you'd be surprised that there is no slash - although, the idea _does_ sound tempting enough._  
  
If you were with this story since the original,_ _I suggest you read it over again lest you risk yourself to confusion._  
  
  
  
  
  


  
**Midsummer Nights**  
  
  
  
  
**_overture  
_**_... you're not very graceful in the bedroom, Harry._  
  
  
  
  


The bronze sun of summer emerged from behind the distant hills, sliding up the skies of cotton-blue at a dilatory speed, its golden fingers treading the lush grounds of Hogwarts. A warm, early morning breeze tickled the bottle-green leaves of the trees and soon wafted its merry way through the open windows of the school. It was an introduction of what was to come: another long, torturous afternoon of scorching heat for some and a blessing in disguise for others. Overall, it would just be another pleasant weekend and unfortunately hot and sticky.  
  
Suddenly, in the midst of the sun's ritual - the coming of dawn - a thick scent of sweet maple syrup and fresh strawberries dipped in a blanket of dewdrops seemed to engulf the entire castle, awakening its sleeping inhabitants.  
  
Thus was the start of a lazy and invigorating morning.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bloody Merlin. I wouldn't be surprised if this was the heat wave of the century.   
  
Ron, sleepy as he was, groaned as he rolled off the bed in an awkward flourish and a dull _thump_, the blankets getting tangled between his limbs. He weakly propped himself on his elbows and peered over his bed at the other sleeping youths who were now blinking their eyes rapidly, adjusting their sight to the glorious sunlight that seeped in through the windows and groaning under such heat so early in the morning.  
  
Seamus ignored Ron's morning complaint and dragged himself off his bed and stretched his long, sinewy limbs before absently scratching at his bare chest and stumbling into the bathroom. The other male Gryffindors stared at his retreating back in annoyance. They never said he could take the shower first. Then again, they didn't bother to argue for they knew they would have done the same thing had their body reflexes adjusted as quickly.  
  
Harry sat up and plucked his black-rimmed glasses from his bedside table and put them on. He brushed his blankets aside and yawned. Merlin, was he sleepy. He would have opted for extra sleep had humidity not been an extra factor for discomfort. He quickly disposed of his flannel pajamas and fumbled around for his school slacks. He clumsily stepped into it and suddenly tilted to the side, falling on his bed.  
  
For someone so agile during battles you're not very graceful in the bedroom, Harry. Ron observed lightly. The others snickered as they followed suit and jumped into their school uniforms.  
  
Harry gave the red-head a mock glare before continuing his escapade into his pants.  
  
Seamus suddenly stepped out, a grin on his fair-skinned face. His hair was wet and hanging over his eyes, his bare chest slick with remnants of liquid droplets that slid down his bare stomach and onto the fluffy material that was wrapped snugly around his waist.  
  
That was refreshing. He scrunched his nose, sniffing out the room. Maybe you guys should take a shower too.  
  
It was only a second too late when he realised the many pillows flying in his direction.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione allowed a tired sigh to escape her lips as she fell back against the comfortable chair, draped in black silk. She had awoken early to escape any morning exchanges she would have with Draco Malfoy. After all, they both had been appointed Head Boy and Girl and as such, they shared the same tower - not necessarily the same dormitory - but tower all the same. So she had seeked refuge in her favourite room in all of Hogwarts - the library.  
  
The mahogany tables were bare and the traces of burnt out candles lay forgotten on the tables. The portraits were stirring about, talking in soft whispers. Hermione simply ignored these daily wonders, reveling in the sultry air that wafted inside in invisible, nimble fingers. She closed her eyes and pictured what-could-be skilled fingers coolly wrapping around her limbs and caressing her face and teasing her hair. She felt her shoulders slacken as she fell prey to the plush chair beneath her, relaxing against the soft silk that brushed against her bare legs and arms.  
  
When the strong aroma of a late morning breakfast suddenly filtered through the library, Hermione immediately sat up, grabbed her _Hogwarts: A History_ and dashed off to the Great Hall.  
  
  
  
  


**_chapter i_**  
_... the man she had chosen wasn't him._  
  
  
  
  


Hermione made a face as she hopelessly stared at the four tables in the Great Hall. Most of the students had already fancied themselves a great day under the sun, some were following suit, and the others were in the process of deciding what to do with themselves for the start of their weekend. She, on the other hand, had yet to do those things. She hadn't even fed her stomach yet. Grouchy because she had missed her friends and of the alarming increase in temperature, she inched slowly towards the Gryffindor table and plopped down, thankful for the plate of morning pastries and ice-cold glass of water.  
  
  
  
Hermione blinked and looked up from her plate and into the faces of Parvati and Lavender, the two gossiping girls joined at the hip. She smiled cordially and greeted them with a half-hearted good morning' and settled for a small strawberry to chew on. The toast could wait.  
  
So, Hermione, Parvati began, excitedly, will you be attending tonight's festivities?  
  
The honey-haired witch furrowed her brows. What could possibly be so eventful that was taking place that night? The Yule Ball was not for another couple of months, the Hogsmeade was not for another few weeks - what was she talking about?  
  
Lavender shook her head, her sun-streaked tendrils bobbing with the movement of her face. Her dark-haired friend looked over and shared the same expression of despondency.  
  
The soiree in celebration of autumn eve takes place tonight. Lavender explained, calmly.  
  
Oh. Right. Now, why had she not known of it? Oh yes. She had more_ important _things to think about than some dance. Besides, what was the point of going when she didn't have a costume to wear when the whole point of the dance was to wear a costume? That, and she didn't have a date but that was a whole different dilemma ...  
  
When she hadn't answered, Lavender cast her a suspicious look.  
  
You _do_ know what the autumn eve is right?  
  
_Who is Hermione Granger again?'_ she thought sourly. Yes. It happens every year.  
  
Lavender waved her hand, dismissing the honey-haired witch's dull reply.  
  
I know you know that. Do you know what it celebrates?  
  
Of course I do. There's a legend that follows it. I just lost track of time - the days do go by quickly, you know.  
  
Parvati looked at her pointedly. You could sound a little more excited about it, then. Everyone's talking about it, Hermione! But maybe because you can dance with whomever you like without being noticed - ooh, I'd like to steal a dance with that Malfoy character ...  
  
Lavender paled.  
  
Don't even think about it. No matter how devious or harmless your intentions are - dancing with that bugger, I mean - you're risking the Gryffindor name.  
  
Not to mention you're to remove your masks at the stroke of midnight. Hermione added with a nod.  
  
So you _do_ know! Parvati accused. Wait, you mentioned a legend. There's a legend?  
  
Hermione refrained from pounding her already throbbing head against the tabletop. The two girls were smart but sometimes ... they just, well, _lacked_ or at other times were a tad bit slow. Still smart all the same, of course. They were fellow Gryffindors and allowing such insults to go without remorse was shameful.  
  
Yes, Parvati, there's a legend.  
  
She noted silently that the fair-haired witch remained silent. Despite that, however, her eyes twinkled merrily, anticipating the story that was about to fall from Hermione's lips.  
  
According to the myths, the faery princess of autumn fell in love with a prince. However, her forebearers were quite adamant in seeing the truth in that. She paused. Have you two ever heard of the muggle theory that if two people are meant for each other, you can blindfold one and they can detect their soulmate in a throng of people?  
  
Parvati gave a snort of disbelief.  
  
That's rubbish!  
  
This is why the muggles call it a theory.  
  
  
  
Hopeless. Simply hopeless.  
  
Well, in this case, the King and Queen held a gala in the princess's honour - a masquerade at that. The faery court and citizens were allowed to use any mask so long as no part of their faces could be seen sans eyes. The faeries believed that if you were truly in love with someone, your eyes would be able to convey that love. In the princess's case, with only her heart to guide her, she searched for her true love', so to speak, searching for eyes that rivaled the brightest of sapphires.  
  
She refrained from giggling - it wasn't her to _giggle_, of all things - when she saw Lavender and Parvati simply starry-eyed, eyes glazed over in a sweet haze. They were anticipating, eager for their Gryffindor familiar to continue on with what seemed like an ordinary fairy tale when in fact, Hermione mused blithely, that it was quite a fairy tale's polar opposite.  
  
In reality, it takes experience to know what love really is and the princess hadn't fully matured yet in that area. In her small quest to find the prince, she ended up with two masked men - one with vibrant cerulean eyes filled with dull adoration and the other with passionate, albeit drab, blues that spoke volumes of silent devotion. To make a long story short, she chose the former. When time came to unmask, the man she had chosen wasn't him.  
  
Lavender suddenly looked dismal - as well as her emotional friend - and swiped at her eye, muttering about something - a piece of dust or some other - stuck there.  
  
The princess was an idiot. Parvati pouted. Honestly! It was quite obvious that the second man was her lover.  
  
If you were in her position, would you be able to tell? In all honesty, would you pick the one whose eyes were dull in colour or blazing?  
  
Well, I'd choose the one who had vibrancy _obviously-_  
  
Then you just proved my point.  
  
Disappointed at her insignificant failure she prodded Hermione, So is there more?  
  
Maybe she should just disappear to the library or find Harry and Ron ...  
  
Hermione nodded. _Or maybe not.'_  
  
She was heartbroken when it was revealed he wasn't the one. The real prince returned to his home and married another princess. Due to unrelenting heartache, she fell ill and died. Many say that she watches from the Heavens above, guiding maidens to their soulmates to prevent any more heartache for she knew what it felt like. These autumn festivities are in honour of her story. This is why we wear masks with eyeholes.  
  
  
  
  
  
That is awful sweet.  
  
  
  
So, will you be attending?  
  
Definitely hopeless.  
  
Hermione stood up and popped the rest of the strawberry in her mouth. She shook her head and smiled apologetically.  
  
Sorry. I might be busy tonight-  
  
You're _always_ busy, though. Lavender interrupted.  
  
-and I wouldn't have a costume to wear.  
  
Lavender arched a slim brow and looked at her fellow Gryffindor as if she had grown two heads, which seemed natural, really, considering her comment had just made it all the more outlandish.  
  
Who do you think we are, Hermione?  
  
Lavender and Parvati ...  
  
  
  
Oh why was Fate so unkind to her?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Pansy delicately applied a new coat of dark green - almost black - nailpolish to accompany her exquisite deep-emerald dress made of fine velvet embedded with beaded pearls and camouflaging sequins. When she was done, she moved towards one of the full-length mirrors that garnished the Slytherin common room and twirled around with grace. It was funny the way she looked even more beautiful without the usual sneer on her face.  
  
Suddenly, the portrait to the Slytherin house opened. Pansy quickly reached for her wand and summoned a spell, her dress and polish melting away, leaving her in her usual array of black robes and cotton skirt.  
  
In stepped the Slytherin prince with a casual elegance, a glorious trait passed on generation to generation in the Malfoy family, a gift that belonged to one of a pureblood and son to a Death Eater. Draco Malfoy stood at the door, his face neutral, with his hair slicked back, several strands of moonlocks spilling across his brow. He had elegant arches of matching brows, sharp and defined cheekbones, and pools of silver moonwater that faded to a dull grey on occasion and glittered with arrogance and pride. He had grown quite tall, standing at an amazing six-one. His shoulders were broad, his muscles were sinewy - it was the body of a true athlete, a dedicated Quidditch player - a Seeker if you wanted to be specific. Draco Malfoy was handsome, beautiful even. Girls of many ages were pining for him and it wasn't a surprise that some male students at Hogwarts were quite smitten with the pureblood. One in particular.  
  
He walked down the steps and into the large common room, robes billowing behind him, finally settling down on a black couch that seemed made specially for him as it fitted to his tall and sleek frame. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, before averting his eyes to the female Slytherin, who was standing no more than six feet away with a curious glint in her eyes, as she stared down her male counterpart.  
  
  
So? Have you decided on going? Pansy finally asked, breaking the blanketing silence.  
  
A sneer came on his face and disappeared just as fast as it had come on. With arrogance as hard as steel still made obvious in his voice, he replied, Blaise managed to con me into going. I have no choice but to go.  
  
Blaise. It was always about Blaise, wasn't it? Goodness. Those two were joined at the hip! They were just as bad as those insufferable, loud-mouthed Gryffindors, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.  
  
I see. She replied, her tone short and clipped.  
  
He then produced a custom-made mask, shining jade dragons ingrained on the mask of smooth ivory. Black vine-shaped wisps encircled the dragons as if engulfed in shadows of flames. He brought it to his face for a moment before bringing it back down and resting it on his lap. Courtesy of the man himself - said I might scare off first-years without it. I could have hexed that bloke to a bloody oblivion for that comment if not for his ... talents.  
  
She had always wondered what those two boys did on their spare time. Now that he implied it, she wasn't sure if she really wanted to hear it. After all, it was she who was supposed to be on the receiving line of Draco's affections or lack thereof - attention, mostly.  
  
Of course.  
  
Shame you didn't want to come. Blaise said you weren't interested in such functions, although I don't blame you. He said, flippantly.  
  
Did he now?  
  
Draco nodded and yawned.  
  
I'll be asleep for a few hours. Don't wake me.  
  
Pansy watched the prince take long strides into his side of the tower and disappear along the winding staircase. She frowned and looked at her wand. Well. Who said _she_ couldn't go? Besides Blaise, anyway. She humphed. Why was it impossible for Blaise to get along with her? Hell, why wasn't Blaise _attracted_ to her? Because he and Draco Malfoy shared a personal something, that's why. Still, she didn't understand. She was Pansy Parkinson, after all, who was betrothed to Draco Malfoy since birth. Well ... not _betrothed_ per se, but the parents of both families were practically expecting it. She was more uncertain about Draco's parents; hers were all fine and dandy with the idea that Pansy was even considering marriage.  
  
Considering purebloods only sealed their fates with the exchange of material things to maintain the purity of their breed, so to speak, and not sealing said fates because of something more. But that didn't mean she was _in love_ with Draco Malfoy. The handsome youth was simply impossible to deal with, even if he was the most prime among the younger and older witches. No. Love was not possible in any circumstances. Lust, perhaps, but never love.  
  
With that beared in mind, Pansy reached out for her wand, muttered an incantation, and soon found herself in a white dress, accompanied with an identical mask that of Draco's except hers was rather simple in comparison, what with the black and green feathers protruding from the sides of the mask and the jade stones that were fastened to the smooth ivory, sparkling delightfully.  
  
Pansy Parkinson would attend the blasted autumn eve celebration.  
  
All for a prince who would never deem her worthy enough.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Who _is_ that?  
  
Lavender sighed in exasperation. Once a bookworm, _always_ a bookworm, but a sweet bookworm nonetheless.  
  
For the thousandth time, Hermione, that would be you. Don't be so shocked; you look just as sweet and pretty as you did back in our fourth year, remember? Or have you forgotten already?  
  
It wasn't that she didn't believe that she could be at least a little pretty - the operative word being _little_ - but she always thought she was just plain. And that didn't matter to her. In fact, surprisingly, she enjoyed being plain. She wasn't interested in looks, although she could identify beauty in a heartbeat. She was, however, interested in intellect, someone who could keep a conversation for hours and still keep her intrigue.  
  
So it was a definite surprise when she looked as pretty as she did at the moment. Well maybe not _that_ pretty but pretty all the same.  
  
Somehow (and she had no idea when they had convinced her), Lavender and Parvati managed to dress her up like their own personal doll. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders (which was bound to become a bit unkempt by morning), decorated with several braided strands and honey-coloured curls. A crown of periwinkle starflowers were pinned to her hair, its fragrance of fruit and freesia strong and sweet. Her dress was modest enough (to this she had approved): it was a white ensemble, with sleeves that swept out elegantly at the elbows, and it was lengthened out to her knees in pellucid layers, tiny diamonds embedded onto the material. A pair of white sandals completed her costume.  
  
Now for some muggle-wear them muggles call   
  
Parvati stared at her friend, curiously. Why use make-up' when we have these lovely things called wands?  
  
Hermione scowled. She knew exactly what make-up' was, and she never particularly fancied the stupid muggle invention.  
  
I never agreed to make-up.  
  
Lavender rolled her eyes and started for Hermione. In her hand was a tiny, circular container having a glittery substance. She popped open the lid and dipped her pinky finger in it.  
  
Close your eyes. She commanded.  
  
Did you not hear me?  
  
No, no. I said it's what muggles call make-up', but I didn't actually intend to use their product. I made this myself and tested it. It looks awfully pretty. Unicorn hair, moonstones, faery dust (I think that faery is still a bit miffed at me for borrowing' some, though) and other necessities. Trust me on this, Hermione. It'll look great. Smashing, even!  
  
Skeptical and wary, she allowed the Gryffindor to apply whatever it was she had created. Opening her eyes, Hermione faced her reflection. No longer did it reflect back Hermione Granger but a maiden in a virginal-white dress, face covered in glimmering spangles of silver and earthy pastel green.  
  
She had yet to find out why, but suddenly she had the urge to go back into her black robes, despite the sweltering heat, and retreat back into the most dim-lit part of the library. Maybe she was just uncomfortable in this different skin.  
  
Don't forget this. Parvati gushed, holding out a matching mask.  
  
Hermione reached for it with hesitance before holding it in her hands. She glanced back up at the mirror and sighed.  
  
Instinct told her the night wouldn't end well.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
end chapter i, 241003  
  
Well, there's the new chapter 1 (three pages longer than the original. Yay!). And 2. Chapter 3 has been scrapped due to the slight change of storyline and revised as a new chapter. And some notes:  
  
1. There were no _overtures_ in the original version - they have no significance either.  
  
2. Draco and Pansy were originally written to go as partners. For those of you who have read the original version, you'll notice some dramatic changes in the second chapter.  
  
3. If you hadn't caught on, there's one main storyline but four sub-plots. These four sub-plots are in reference to Draco, Hermione, boy!Blaise, and Pansy.  
  
4. You'll note I've added more depth in Pansy's character to enhance and complicate the storyline; therefore, prolonging the fic as a whole.  
  
5. You'll notice some slash undertones; surprisingly, there is no slash. Huh. How does that work, I wonder. :)


	2. faulty cinderella

**[edit 241003]** I wanted to hang myself by my hair when I re-read the original Chapter 2. God. It was like this grand macabre, written (by me, no less) to torture me later on when I decided to go over it. Ew. And yes, I'm fully aware that there's no such thing as overtures for different chapters - just humour me and pretend it exists. **[/edit 241003]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

Midsummer Nights  
  
  
  
  
**_overture i_**  
_... she could have been an embodiment of ... Aphrodite herself ..._  
  
  
  
  


Ocean blue - a perfect colour for a sultry, autumn night - dappled with luminous diamonds that winked with glee. A waning silver moon was distinct in this pool of black, slivers of moonlight engulfing the adjacent lake to Hogwarts in a ripple of white wine. Zig-zagging pyreflies hovered over the water before buzzing to the open courtyard of the school where a set of spellbound autumn leaves fluttered about Hogwarts students hidden behind elegant masks and costumes.  
  
Draco, mask and all, stood halfway beneath the archway entrance of the school, part of his body illuminated by the glow of silver light. His hair of moongold was brilliant in its rich texture and colour; it almost seemed impossible that someone with such an ugly heart could possess every intangible, physical attribute.  
  
His stormy grey eyes scanned the throng of people chattering enthusiastically with hand gestures, picking at the refreshments table, and pointing at the dancing leaves as if the idea were simply unreasonable. Idiots. They all were. He sighed in frustration as he raked a delicate, pure hand through his silk hair. Blaise could have at least had the decency to warn him that he would not be spending the night with him; otherwise, he would have found something more worthy of his time than a dance held by that stupidly noble Gryffindor-admirer, more commonly known as Headmaster Dumbledore. Hell, he could have been sinking into his bedsheets right about now and dreaming beautiful dreams about death, blood, and homicide. Or better yet - his rise to power as a Death Eater.  
  
As he was ready to take his leave, a decent sight stopped him midway. A student, a seventh-year he assumed and approximately stood at a good five-nine, came into view. Tall and voluptuous, slender and exquisite - she could have been an embodiment of the goddess Aphrodite herself for all he knew. She seemed to be searching for something, or rather someone, before she caught his gaze. He couldn't see her smile but he thought he felt her smile, and, although he could not reciprocate such an open greeting, he relented and offered the mystery woman a nod of appreciation and acknowledgement instead.  
  
Seemingly to accept his subtle gesture, she made her way to him. It was then he shook his head, willing her to stop. She did.  
  
The woman was enticing, she was confident enough, and she exerted an aura that shouted _pureblood_ louder than anything else he had ever known. But he hadn't attended tonight's festivities to _mingle_ with lesser folk (in a Malfoy's standards anyhow). He came because Blaise had finally managed to convince - con - whatever - him to attend because he simply _wanted_ him to. Why he agreed to it in the first place completely boggled his mind. Maybe because he often let secrets slip out for _some reason_ or other. After all, he was a Slytherin.  
  
A one-hundred percent sly, Slytherin git, anyway.  
  
Well, he certainly didn't want to come to this celebration for nothing when he had prepared fully for this event. Might as well fascinate and woo this woman with his mere presence.  
  
So, with gliding grace, he approached her with a hand held out.  
  
And she took it eagerly, her deep blue eyes glittering brightly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Lavender and Parvati were strolling towards the courtyard with perfect synchorization. It was quite the comparison to Hermione's awkward walk as she tried to refrain from ripping her dress off and throwing it away. Outwardly, the dress looked fine to the touch, like velvet that seemed made for her as it fit her in all the right places ... but the dress, no matter how deviously comfortable on the outside it looked, it was damn near _un_comfortable. How was a girl to walk properly in this getup?  
  
She gazed upon Lavender and Parvati and their perfect synchorization.  
  
Well, apparently _they_ weren't part of the statistics.  
  
She thought of enduring such a minor torture just for the night. Besides, if she managed to embarrass herself by somehow carrying out her desire to shed off the dress like skin, no one would know it was her.  
  
Oh, Happy Mask.  
  
So, she stood tall and glided across the fields with grace, soon to meet up with mystery students and chatting with them excitedly, regardless of what House they were in.  
  
It didn't occur to her, at the moment, as she had so confidently told Lavender and Parvati earlier that morning, that masks were to be removed at midnight.  
  
  
  
  


**_chapter ii_**_  
You look very nice tonight, Hermione._  
  
  
  
  


Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice, admiring the way Seamus Finnegan continued to entertain his group of devotees with his outlandish stories and wild jokes that kept most of the attendants of the celebration on their toes. Despite the mask, Seamus made sure to keep himself obvious. He had a distinct personality and a free-spirited soul full of mirth. And you just couldn't miss that enjoyable, Irish accent. He had attempted to court her more than once, well-informed that the lady behind the mask was none other than Hermione Granger herself.  
  
Which led to a playful banter of mock surprise of her femininity, which further convinced Hermione to stalk the two talkative lionesses of Hogwarts with a hex ready at the tip of her tongue. Of course, like stated before, it was all in good fun.  
  
Aw, cheer up, milady. Seamus grinned, heartily. Then, he whispered, You look very nice tonight, Hermione.  
  
Well, at least he had enough chivalry to assume she wanted to keep her identity a secret. The assumption, of course, was true by all means.  
  
They parted in different directions, then: Seamus to his adoring group and Hermione to the edge of the courtyard where she continued to drink from her cup, surveying the dancing friends and couples with amusement. Her eyes then strayed over towards the lone Whomping Willow, where it stood proudly with its crooked branches and twisted trunk. Vaguely, she noticed how under direct moonlight it didn't look the least bit threatening, which was a surprisingly entertaining thought all on its own. Whomping Willows, no matter the circumstances, were never considered to be harmless.  
  
Then, she spotted a sitting figure a couple of feet away from the willow, near the bank of the adjacent river. Illuminated by moonlight, this figure - one distinctly masculine - seemed to be an ethereal being dressed in black robes and a simple mask with a black flame dragon delicately engraved on the left cheek.  
  
Definitely Slytherin.  
  
But she really, really wanted company.  
  
So she decided to approach him.  
  
What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.  
  
Casting one last glance at Seamus and company, she walked off.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Nice night. She commented as she stood above his figure.  
  
He looked up then to face her, and she thought she felt him grin.  
  
More or less. He raked his eyes over her body. What House do _you_ come from?  
  
I ... uh, Slytherin. _You idiot!_ she, mentally, berated.  
  
He chuckled; it sounded nice.  
  
Slytherins don't stutter and we're a bit more devious than that. We're skilled liars, you know.  
  
  
  
Hermione knew her face was an embarrassing shade of red. She now felt like a fool to converse with a Slytherin.  
  
He nodded. Yes. And if you truly were a Slytherin pureblood, he paused, for dramatic effect she supposed, then you would have either blonde or black hair. It comes with the inter-family relationships.  
  
  
  
Silence lingered in the air, enveloping her in its suffocating folds. The night was too hot and her dress was beginning to cling to her figure.  
  
You're from Gryffindor. It was a sudden statement - a sudden and overwhelming and _shocking_ statement. Dare she deny?  
  
  
  
'Why' what?  
  
She looked into his eyes. Why do you think I'm from Gryffindor?  
  
The mystery Slytherin stood up and brushed the sleeves of his robes. He walked towards her and she, unconsciously, took a step back.  
  
Because you're different.  
  
He reached for her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand. She sucked in a breath.  
  
And differences knows no boundaries tonight.  
  
She looked at him, perplexed.  
  
He was amused. She could tell.  
  
The implications of my statement is I'd like to dance.  
  
Hermione blinked. Oh. Of course.  
  
It didn't occur to her at that moment that three Gryffindors knew who she was. It didn't occur to her that one of those three disapproved of Gryffindor-Slytherin interaction because of the remnants of the past that lingered above him. It didn't occur to her that this night would be an event to remember because several things would happen to her in the span of an hour.  
  
And if these occurrences proved to be for better or worse, she didn't know.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Her head was against his shoulder as they danced slowly. It irked him, to put it simply, because in this crowd of dancers he felt out-of-character, out-of-place. And if anyone paid any close attention, they would have noticed that the bloke _dancing_ to a slow beat was none other than Draco Malfoy himself. He was sure that his hair would give him away. A reputation broken seemed infinitely worse than suffering from an Avada Kedavra curse.  
  
He was about to pull away from the girl who was smitten with him (as was proved when he felt her snuggle closer) when his eyes, as they had been surveying the dancing couples not long ago, fell on a familiar figure with a very familiar mask.  
  
Blaise Zabini.  
  
Dancing.  
  
He thought he would have been more interested in what Blaise would have to say for himself later when he would confront him about his little escapade with a young woman from a different House - not that it really mattered - but when Blaise _danced_ it was something. But no, it wasn't that. In fact, he was curious about the girl he was dancing with. The way she carried herself reminded him of a certain someone, yet he couldn't pinpoint whom exactly.  
  
What was more, it was the way she danced with his Slytherin friend. It was unconsciously intimate, and it seemed that Zabini had no qualms with the way this woman danced. In fact, it was almost like he was enjoying himself.  
  
It was then that Blaise released his partner to take his leave that Draco left the clutches of his own and approached the girl who he was very intrigued with.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They had stopped dancing.  
  
You know, he began, after tonight I'll be treating you and your friends like dirt.  
  
And after tonight, I'll have no choice but to think all you Slytherins as pompous gits. She rebutted with a smirk.  
  
She felt him smile, too.   
  
I'll see you tomorrow, Gryffindor. He said before departing.  
  
And she couldn't help but laugh.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seamus was conflicted. His relationship with Hermione Granger was purely platonic and yet, he felt some responsibility towards her. In the past six years, he had looked at Hermione as only a friend but that friendship grew to something more. No, it was nothing like romantic affections but he felt a protective streak wash over him. Over the years, Hermione Granger was no longer his friend but a younger sister. In fact, of all the Gryffindor girls, he had come to viewing Hermione as less and less of a friend and more like his kin. He almost knew her as well as Harry and Ron. Sure, it was rare that they would be seen together in the halls as she spent most of her time alongside with the latter two. But during her long hours of studying and his battle with his own insomnia, they spent time together in the Gryffindor common room just talking to each other. Those nights where things seemed out of place, they would just talk to each other. He knew his relationship with Hermione would never amount as much to the relationship she had with Harry and Ron but when it came to family, amount didn't matter.  
  
So, now, he wasn't sure whether to step in and act the big or steer clear and let her decide for herself. What she was doing was a blatant betrayal. He wasn't sure if he should be mad at her or not. After all, the Gryffindors' past with the Slytherins were nothing short of rivalry and hatred. And here she was, consorting - or was - with an enemy.  
  
He needed help ...  
  
To tell Harry or not to tell Harry?  
  
A simple, but still very difficult, question.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Why he decided to approach her was beyond him. He had forgotten to care. He abandoned all judgments. Right now, it was as if the world left him behind, and he watched his scene take place right in front of him. He had taken her hand, a silent question to dance, and she complied with a curious glint in her eye. She had every reason to; she was approached by two Slytherins in one night, two Slytherins that knew naught of dancing until her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione knew him from the minute he touched her arm in silent regard, bringing her body close to his and pulling her arms around his neck, finally resting his own on her waist. The Malfoys were a distinguishable lot. The colour of their hair was unique, a colour mixed with pieces of the sun and moon and their eyes were a penetrating, soul-burning blue-silver that never lost its beauty. Despite Draco's steel arrogance, she knew that she would give herself up in soft abandon if she stared into his eyes long enough. She cursed them for they were almost hypnotic, and indeed they were; otherwise, she would not have been dancing with him. What was more, it was his posture that intrigued her. He no longer carried himself with emphasized self-assurance and instead carried himself with what was left of him - dignity and grace and an untainted pride.  
  
He surprised her even further in their dance - this mysterious, tantalizing, personal dance. She felt silly but at this very moment, being a Gryffindor didn't matter to her. Draco being a Slytherin was of no importance. Her head was in the clouds as he handled her with the utmost tenderness, treating her as if she was light and fragile. It seemed that with every count of one-two-three's', the more their dance became sacred - a lovers' dance. This was one side of Malfoy she wouldn't mind seeing every day. Unfortunately, reality was cruel and she knew - deep within her insecurities - that this Draco Malfoy would only last for so long. It was malicious the way that life continually teased her.  
  
He spoke first, breaking her from her solemn reverie.  
  
What House are you from?  
  
She smiled underneath her mask. If anyone could see it, they would note that it was dull and dry and bore no genuine traces. She wanted it explained - wanted to know why she was disappointed that he didn't know and yet one of his mates knew without her needing to explain.  
  
He wondered aloud, peering into her eyes for any confirmation.  
  
She almost felt like crying. What was tonight doing to her?  
  
... yes. She looked down.  
  
You're lying. Her head snapped up. And you're certainly not from Slytherin either. That leaves Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.  
  
  
  
And I think I'll leave myself in mystery. To be honest with you, I wouldn't be happy if you were in Gryffindor.  
  
And if I were in Hufflepuff?  
  
I wouldn't be happy, either.  
  
This was really disappointing.  
  
he started, I'm willing to take chances, if only for tonight.  
  
As if on cue, the musical chimes of an ancient clock echoed in the air, the music and voices rendered silence. It rang twelve times and in an instant, people began removing their masks. Some laughed, some gasped, some where quite bewildered at finding out who their partners were. The only ones left in hiding were Draco and Hermione. Suddenly, she felt fearful by no explanation.  
  
He removed his mask first and her breath caught. Without the usual sneer on his face, he looked absolutely breathtaking. His face was flawless and aristocratic, like a Greek god of some sort, like Eros. He seemed to epitomize aestheticism - a fine and elegant art.  
  
She had taken no initiative to remove her own, so he lifted hers from her face. His eyes, slowly, gazed at the fair skin that was slowly being revealed, her rosy lips that were slightly parted, her flushed cheeks, and her brown eyes that seemed to break him. It was a wonderful feeling - to be broken, to be an anonymity that needed unraveling. Whether she was from Gryffindor or from Hufflepuff, he still didn't know. And he wasn't disappointed - in fact, it was almost thrilling, a forbidden chase meant for two. With a mind of its own, his hand traced her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Before he could stop himself, he found himself descending. His lips hovered above hers for a second in a way that could only be described as sensual, as their soft breaths mingled. Then, he planted a soft kiss on her lips. He hadn't really kissed her, merely brushed his lips over her just to feel the texture of her mouth. She suckled in a breath, which then prompted him further, and he really kissed her - fully, deeply.  
  
That one classic moment of which everyone talked about - the one where the world stops turning and everyone and everything but the couple who felt sparks blend into the background - was everything short of true. The kiss was exhilarating but the world didn't stop for her; it continued to spin on its axis. She, however, felt trapped in time with the one boy that was forbidden to her. All because of bloodlines and rivalries. She wondered to herself what prompted her to give in to this kiss. Perhaps because it was exciting the way she knew who _he_ was and he knew nothing of her. She didn't really know and she didn't think she really wanted to.  
  
So, with much reluctance, she removed herself from his gentle embrace and cleared her throat. Everything was moving way too fast for her, and she thought if she didn't catch up she would be left behind.  
  
Thank you. She said, her voice somewhat strangled.  
  
Then, she spun on her heels and walked away with the rest of the students.  
  
He, on the other hand, remained where he stood and stared after her until she was reduced to nothingness. He looked at his hand.  
  
Two masks were clenched in his fists.  
  
One of them belonged to her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
end chapter ii, 061203  
  
Finished chapter 2 in the span of two months. Apparently, I like to take long intervals between chapters. Anyway, some notes:  
  
1. Added conflicts so I could have something to work with. Originally, this story would have been four or five chapters long but I wanted it extended. So.  
  
2. Can you finally tell why this is [AU] for a reason? For some reason, no matter how much I try to drag it out, it seems to be moving too fast. I'm miffed.  
  
3. Smite me because they are out-of-character. Of all blasphemous things to do - I've sunk low.  
  
4. I like giving characters, who are, usually, depicted as one-dimensional characters, more depth. Despite how minor their presence, they have more to them than what meets the eye. So, I gave this lovely attribute to Pansy Parkinson. I've altogether forgotten whether Pansy really is really or actually pretty. I gave her pity and opted for the latter.  
  
5. This is a drastic change from the original. Ugh. I've also given Seamus his small storyline. Honestly, I enjoy working on characters that aren't much worked on. Hm.  



	3. forgotten fairytale

**[edit 061203]** I'm tempted to write a fairy tale. Yes. Really. But not just yet. At any rate, this is the chapter where everything changes and no longer follows the original storyline. For those of you that liked the original storyline ... I apologise but I simply wasn't feeling' it. **[/edit 061003]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

Midsummer Nights  
  
  
  
  
**_overture ii_**  
_Why, if it isn't Gryffindor's very own personal dictionary._  
  
  
  
  


The previous night came and went, and almost every student who was fascinated with the idea of prancing around behind masks had forgotten everything enchanting about the celebration. They forgot about the muggy atmosphere, the clear indigo skies and its blanket of stars. They forgot about the bright silver moon and the dancing pyreflies, and they had dismissed their dancing partners as figments of their imagination and continued to live their lives at Hogwarts. Everything magical of the autumn season had died away with the leaves, leaving the rest to Nature and its quest for winter.  
  
Of the few who remembered, Pansy Parkinson was one person. She stared out her window and looked out below to the lush green. It seemed inviting. Every day she would look out and contemplate this life she led of unhappiness and gloom. Every day she would wonder what it was about her that made her seem so imperfect in the eyes of many. She would wonder what it was that made her so desirable and yet that feeling to be desired left nothing but remnants of ugliness. Perhaps it was because she was only an item to be glorified by her fellow Slytherins, an item that would be used and tossed away the minute something better came along.  
  
The worst part of her life was that she paid no mind to it, let everyone control and abuse her like they did. Of course, she would retaliate back when necessary; that was the life she was born to lead. Yet, she allowed these things to happen, continuously, because somewhere deep inside her lingered a kind of hope, a hope which called for the attention of a particular Slytherin. She had received that attention several times before, but she felt his weariness and his lack of enthusiasm whenever he was with her.  
  
She was hated by the one person she held deep affections for.  
  
And it hurt.  
  
Pansy looked beside her to the softly snoring, Marcus Flint. Yet again, in this miserable life that was her own, she was another dirty trophy to put on his list of triumphs.  
  
And she didn't mind one bit.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He was sitting in the library, admiring a particular portrait that was veiled in the shadowed section of the room. He assumed it was dusty, very much ancient, as he had studied Madame Pince polish the countless portraits on more than one occasion, yet had left this hidden one alone.  
  
It was an elegant and miserably haunting picture of an unknown Utopia. It was in the midst of a clearing, where a large lake rippled under an ominous full moon. A waterfall fell in a delicate stream into the lake, the sound of water on water faintly heard. The occasional animal would scamper off in the darkness of the surrounding forest and all that was left of the painting were the two ill-fated lovers who floated on the water's surface, lifeless but still amazingly beautiful. Their hands were linked, yet the light current were trying to rip them apart. Several times throughout the day he would see the two lovers on opposite sides of the lake, and then he would see them back together again.  
  
He turned his head when he saw the library door open. He grinned, recognising the bushy, albeit slightly tamed, hair and the figure that hunched itself over piles of books, carefully trying to balance them.  
  
Why, if it isn't Gryffindor's very own personal dictionary. He smirked.  
  
She yelped and dropped her books.  
  
Bugger off, Malf- Zabini?  
  
  
  
  


**_chapter iii_**_  
I'm just here to grace you with my presence._  
  
  
  
  


Oh for Merlin's sake, Seamus! Ron sighed, dramatically, Sit your arse down on a chair or something and keep it there; otherwise, I'll nail you down. I'm trying to concentrate here.  
  
Harry leaned back against the _very_ comfortable chair in the Gryffindor common room, looking at the wonderful chess board in triumph. Six years had gone by and not once had he beaten Ron in a chess game. In fact, in in his sixth year, he was about to give up. He wondered if Merlin was taking pity upon him now because he saw no way Ron could get out of his dilemma. While Ron pondered his next move, his eyes fell on Seamus who had landed on one of the couches and was now staring at the ceiling. Something was obviously bothering him.  
  
Bishop to C-7. Checkmate.  
  
Harry snapped his head to the chess board. He glared. This game was truly malicious. The chair felt rough beneath his body and Ron's chess pieces seemed to be taunting him.  
  
I want a re-match. Harry declared, hotly.  
  
If you're so adamant in losing, then bring it on.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Do you often think of Malfoy to assume that he would be sitting here right now?  
  
Hermione glared and kneeled down to pick up the large tomes.  
  
Fortunately, no. He just has a twisted way of lounging about so he has reason to pester me while I'm studying. She snapped.  
  
Blaise sunk deeper into the chair and snickered, as Hermione struggled to stand up on her feet with the books threatening to topple over every which way.  
  
All you Slytherins are pompous gits. She muttered, angrily. No decency whatsoever.  
  
Blaise sat up and stared after her retreating back that was walking towards the restricted section. _And after tonight, I'll have no choice but to think all you Slytherins as pompous gits.'_  
  
He called from his seat.  
  
Why don't you leave me alone and smite some first-years instead! She exclaimed from where she was.  
  
He quirked an eyebrow. That actually wasn't a bad idea. He would have to add that to his agenda for the day. For now, however, he jumped off of his chair and proceeded to follow the same path Hermione took. Day or night, the restricted section was kept awfully dark so he had no choice but to squint and search for a petite silhouette.  
  
Have you sunk so low that you've resorted to stalking? Her voice said from behind him. He wasn't sure if he jumped in surprise but if he did, she was good at pretending nothing had happened.  
  
On the contrary, Miss Granger. Blaise replied. Actually, I was going to ask you if you attended yesterday's celebration?  
  
She stiffened. Had she let something slip?  
  
She cleared her throat. No, actually. I rested up for the night.  
  
Blaise studied her. Maybe his eyes were deceiving him since it was so dark, but if he was right he could see her nibbling her bottom lip and tucking a strand behind her ear, occasionally fiddling with the sleeves of her robes. Well, there was only one way to confirm her nervousness.  
  
You were there. He said matter-of-factly.  
  
Hermione snorted. You sound sure of yourself.  
  
Of course. Has no one told you that you are a _dreadful_ liar?  
  
Actually, yes, but in this case I try to refrain from lying.  
  
Are you really?  
  
Hermione ignored him and walked the way to the exit of the library. Sensing his close footsteps, she increased her pace. Slytherins and their determined streak. It was absolutely irritating and tiring and _ooh!_ she wished he would just trip over his robes and laces to get him off her back. She knew she was afraid of letting her identity make itself known. In all honesty, she was one of the many that wanted to forget - and was on the verge of forgetting - last night's events. It was a disturbing night because one, she danced with _two _Slytherins; two, she _kissed_ Draco Malfoy; and three, she was bloody dressed up as a girlish faery who showed too much skin for her liking. She didn't know what part of that night was the worst. Oh, and she still had yet to find out _who_ her first dance partner was. Well, not that it really mattered. Or maybe ...  
  
She spun around and faced him.  
  
No, I wasn't there. You were probably dancing with some other person. Really, I never had to speak with you since first year and I'd like to keep our acquaintances with each other as such. She said, curtly, and proceeded towards the Gryffindor tower.  
  
Blaise grinned.  
  
Hermione Granger really was a terrible liar.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco studied the mask he held in his hand. There was something about its designs and its shape that he recognised. It was a small mask with exquisite, glittered swirls and rare jewels embedded into the smooth, glass ivory. He threw the mask on his bed and stared at it, his thoughts straying from the topic at hand to one of more significance - to him, at least. The girl he had had danced the night before had haunted his dreams overnight. She looked nothing like an ordinary girl. In fact, he couldn't even detect whether she was a pureblood or not and even then he decided that at that very moment he didn't really care.  
  
Well ... that was then.  
  
He did care now.  
  
What he did care about was not pursuing her.  
  
Draco looked towards one of the inner doors, the one that connected itself to the bathroom and right across to the Head Girl's room. Unfortunately, the Head Girl just happened to be the bane of his existence. What surprised him was that he hadn't insulted her in two days - a feat by his standards. He grinned, evilly. He would have to do something about that.  
  
So, with one last glance of the mask (he made a mental note that he would search for the girl later), he slipped into his school robes and sauntered out of his tower.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione Granger was settled on a rock, which overlooked the lake. As always, her head was buried in some book and absorbing all its information it could provide. And, as always, whenever she was _really_ into her studies, she would absently run a finger over her lips. Draco smirked. For a mudblood, she wasn't at all quite bad-looking. She didn't bear the same exotic features as the Patil sisters or the beauty and sensuality as Lavender Brown and Fleur Delacour. In fact, she would have paled in comparison. But Hermione Granger was different. She was like an unfinished, vintage portrait who would become ever more lovlier with age. Oh, and she had such an intellectual beauty, which made her all the more lovlier.  
  
She had beauty and brains that he had learned to admire and respect over his growing years. Would he admit to feeling an inkling of _something_ for her? No, of course not, because he didn't feel _anything_. Admiration and affection were two different things and he would never place those two words together when thinking about the god-awful muggleborn. Still, he couldn't help but admit that she was an intrigue that needed to be discovered. To discover the multi-layered person that she was, he did it the only way a Malfoy could: he mocked and taunted her with cruel words, watched emotions control her features, observed, silently, in the shadows. He had learned her quirkiest habits from observation. Living in the same tower with her had its benefits, although he wished she was a bit more interesting than curt nods and sharp replies. Her wit and sarcasm made up for it whenever she rose to the occasion, surprisingly.  
  
Yes, she was definitely an intrigue.  
  
He acknowledged.  
  
Hermione lifted her eyes from her book and risked a side-glance, already knowing who it was that had greeted her.  
  
She said in return and resumed to reading.  
  
After making Head Boy and Girl, they had made a silent truce. Alone, they were free from differences that bound them - no longer were they Slytherin and Gryffindor. Alone, they were just Draco and Hermione. Nevertheless, that wasn't an open invitation to like one another. In addition, they weren't allowed to provoke each other and, if so, every thing would be open to harsh banters and the impersonal boundaries that they made would be erased. Of course, that hadn't refrained Draco from hounding her whenever the chance presented itself. It seemed his life duty was to annoy her to the ends of the world.  
  
Anything I can help you with, Malfoy? She asked, dully.  
  
Not particularly, he responded. I'm just here to grace you with my presence.  
  
Hermione snorted. Your graces would be appreciated elsewhere.  
  
He crossed his arms and leaned against the rock.  
  
You wound me, woman. Normal people would want me around.  
  
Normal people don't have big heads like you do.  
  
  
  
Hermione resisted the urge to laugh at this curious situation she was in. They had been decent to each other since the beginning of the year, minus the frequent incidents that occurred in the library that she had soon branded as their room', but having a decent conversation to match went far beyond her understanding. It was as if hell had frozen over and would gladly freeze over again and again. Really, Malfoy never ceased to impress her, even if it was for miniscule things.  
  
Well, despite that, she still had to rid herself of him.  
  
What is it that you want? Honestly, Malfoy, two conversational Slytherins two days in a row is enough to drive someone - particularly me - over the edge.  
  
Draco looked at her; she bit her lip and cursed herself.  
  
_You, my dear,_ she thought, _have a very big mouth_.  
  
Come again?  
  
She answered, rapidly. I have to go. I'll see you in Arithmancy.  
  
His eyes were unreadable as she climbed down the rock and walked away from him. There was something she had said - something quite disturbing all on its own.  
  
The girl from yesterday spoke with two Slytherins, including him. It would be a ridiculous coincidence if it was her and Merlin, would it be a disappointment.  
  
He weighed the possibilities.  
  
Surprisingly, he wasn't sure if he would be disappointed at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
end chapter iii, 081203  
  
Well, that would be the chapter. So for the original readers, you can see the very, very drastic changes that are taking place. I apologise if you liked the light-hearted fairy tale version, but I wanted something more complicated. Huh. And every time I work on an [AU] Pansy, my likeness for her grows ever more. Blaise's character is hard to define so whether he's out-of-character or not seems hard to tell. For informational purposes, I tend to characterize him as someone smarmy like Draco, an intelligent youth who keeps to himself most of the time, or a mixture of both. It really depends what story I'm writing.  
  
The next chapter should come out sooner. _Cat and Mouse_ is undergoing its own revision and _No Bed of Roses_ is teetering between being updated or being revised as well. I haven't decided. From here hence, if I sporadically disappear from this alias I am most likely to be found under _paradoxical_.  
  
Replies to your very much appreciated and wonderful reviews can be found in an entry of my fic journal. 


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